


the beast comes back

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [18]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen, Illustrated, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurloz drinks a Faygo, contemplates on life, and oh yeah - shoots some people. </p><p>A Trailerstuck side story. Takes place after "no peak no fall no meaning" and before "faith trust and pixie dust".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. monster in the dark

**== >Be the Highblood father worried for his family**

 

 

“They keep cutting my hours! It isn't fair! Of all the people at that shit Wal-Mart, they know I am the only one right now with a job and needs the money!” Meulin rages, pacing about the living room.

You would smile almost as she reminds you of Nepeta when she is upset like this...but it isn't a topic to smile about. Not at all. Meulin was the only one currently working right now in the household and money...well it was already tight but if they kept cutting her hours...

You grit your teeth a bit. You should be doing more to support your family than sitting around but no one wants to have an ex-con Highblood hanging around. Even though your record has been nothing but clean since you got out (excluding that first altercation with Cronus last week), you’re still stared at with accusing eyes. _Once a criminal, always a criminal_ they’d murmur as they slam door after door in your face.

And there was absolutely nothing you could fucking do about it.

“Can you believe them Kurloz!? They are probably doing it just because....because they are xenophobic bastards!” Meulin huffs, hands on her hips.

You shake your head, offering her a small smile. You quickly sign to her, <<CALM LOVE. DON’T WORRY. OUR LUCK WILL CHANGE.>>

You know the real reason they are cutting her hours though. It’s you. They know she has a Highblood mate and a Highblood charge now living in the trailer. That’s definitely a double strike against her. The owners weren't xenophobic toward trolls, but with Highbloods? A lot of people had a special reserve of hatred.

A lack of respect.

Meulin stalks off to the kitchen, still growling crossly and banging every pan she takes out. She will cool off eventually...then the two of you will sit down and once more go over options, go through the want ads in the paper and start another week of rejected resumes....or...

You raise a hand to the pendants around your neck—the Capricorn sigil, the symbol of your hemocaste and noble blood. The skull, meaning you have gone through the mirthful trials, stared down death in his obsidian eyes, and embraced the golden glory of an honorable death. You let your fingers trail over the familiar worn metal of the Capricorn symbol.

There was still the Brotherhood. There is _always_ the Brotherhood, despite you being out of prison for so long with no illegal activities. Once you are in the Brotherhood, the only way out is in a body bag. Even in prison, you were still in good as you were protected. Only a higher ranked member could dual out punishment. Even though.....

The loss of your tongue wasn’t a result of disservice to the Brotherhood. They were the ones that helped you get back on your feet after the…removal. You learned to pantomime and speak with your hands from the other “silent” brothers. Whereas some brothers were termed “clowns”, you and your odd prisonkin were “mimes”.  The loss of a tongue tended to happen to some of the more “chatty” brothers who said too much to the boss. Despite your silence, you weren't cast aside. You were still useful. You still had what it took to be a Subjuggulator. Now you just did with a torn smile.

You owe the brotherhood your life but you turned your back on them. You wanted to make an attempt at making honest money that wasn't dripping in blood.

But there isn’t an honest way for a motherfucking purpleblood to earn a living. Not in this ugly city. Not in this lifetime.

You clench your fist around the Capricorn pendant. You feel the sharp edge cut into your palm. You don’t care. You know the answer to all your woes. You’ve known the answer all your motherfucking life.

You let go of the pendant and move to the kitchen. Meulin is cutting up a scallion, chopping harder and faster than she should because she’s still working out her anger on the innocent vegetable. You gently tap her shoulder to get attention. With you being mute and her being deaf, it’s the only way to really get her attention and no matter how gently you tap, she always jumps.

 _“Murr!_ ” She looks up at you, “Oh, Kurloz! You scared me!”

You chuckle and kiss her forehead. You raise a hand to quickly sign, <<GOING OUT TO TURN IN SOME RESUMES. BE BACK LATER.>>

Meulin pouts, clearly not liking that, but eventually sighs. “I understand. I'll still stay up to wait for you though.”

She stands on her tiptoes to kiss you. A low purr escapes you although a lump of guilt is settling in your stomach as you consider what you must do to make sure she and your kin are kept fed with a roof over your heads.

You give her one last kiss before reluctantly pulling away. You exit the trailer and head to your car. It’s nothing special; a battered pick-up-hovertruck, probably the most hick car in the trailer park. A friend gave it to you cheap and so far it had survived everything being thrown at it, figuratively and literally. You slide into the vehicle and close the door behind you.

For a minute or two you sit there, staring at your hands on the wheels. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it for a moment. You have to do this. There are no other options left.

No other options left but this one.

You start the car.

* * *

 

You drive until you are in the belly of New Jack City, the very bowels of the monstrous city. Here there are no fools like the United Blue Kings running about, whooping, hollering, and making a scene. It’s quiet here. Only a few beggars are on the street and the locals can be seen walking about with their head down and hoods up, eyes darting to every dark corner. Streetwalkers step quietly out of motels, pulling on jackets their “benefactors” have been kind enough to buy them. Drug dealers lean back in the shadows, carefully gauging customers and making sure said customers aren't part of a sting operation. The only color besides the cement are the colorful curves of graffiti, stating where to pick up whores, where to score drugs, and whose territory you are in. These are the streets of tried and true professionals.

This is deep in the territory of the Capricorn Brotherhood…and you know every single street, every back alley, every fire escape, and every little crack on the sidewalk. It’s hard to forget a place when you and your pack used to roam it. 

You park your hovertruck on the curb and step out. You look up at the old warehouse before you. Its blends right into the gloom of the city with only a dingy yellow light above the door indicating any life. The windows are blacked out to mask what was really going on inside. The police never come by as long as their pockets are lined with enough boons to keep their eyes turned away. The Brotherhood bases were low key on the outside but that wasn't to say the door wasn't well guarded.

You move to the doorway, knowing your every step is being watched. No doubt there are guards on the roofs of the two buildings next to the warehouse, with guns trained on you in case you try something. You rap on the door hard before crossing your arms. A minute later, a slit in the door opens and you see a pair of purple-tinted shades stare at you.

“What do you.... _shit_! _Kurloz_! Man, where you been brother! I mean mother of _fuck_! You've been on the out livin’ the civilian life for what...fuck I dun even _know_ how long anymore!”

The slit closes and the door is thrown open. 

You know the gangly highblood standing in front of you well. They called him The Skeleton Man or Skeleton Key; few know his real name was Phaxin. Phaxin is typical height for a Highblood but all gangly bones instead of broad muscles; his hair kept back by a simple headband and had two pairs of horns and mutated eyes—the clearest indicator of yellowblood ancestry. You never knew much about his family though as Phaxin never spoke about them other than to say his mother and father were bastards who cleared out when he was young. Since then, Phaxin has been a close brother to you. He was part of your old “pack” but obviously he had moved up in ranks since then, now in charge of opening doors and getting into the places where the targets slept. You remember him being a terror on the computers, all hack and no tact (though he would never admit it the latter).

You give your old friend a toothy smile, quickly signing, <<BEEN A WHILE YES....HOW ARE YOU PHAXIN?>>

Phaxin takes off his purple tinted glasses and uses his shirt to rub the lenses cleans. He gives a short laugh, “Me? Doin’ all right bro, doin’ all right. Still crackin’ safes an’ safe houses, bein’ the motherfuckin’ skeleton key and proud of it you know? Not like there are any other options out there. How’s you, Kur? Hows the civilian get up treating ya?”

You sigh, signing, <<WHY I’M HERE ACTUALLY. CAN I COME IN? RATHER NOT DO BUSINESS OUTSIDE.>>

“Yeah, sure Kurloz! I mean you are the motherfucking Calaca de Muertos! You are still a big motherfuckin’  legend down in these parts, Kur. You ain’t been forgotten; not by any of us.” Phaxin turns to head inside.

The Highblood hacker blows a sharp whistle causing the other Highbloods lounging about the base to lurch up and see what the noise is about. Phaxin grins and give flourish of a bow, “Motherfucking juggalos and juggalettes, _Calaca de Muertos_ is motherfuckin’ payin’ us a visit!”

Now the lethargy in the room rolls away as they sit up. There are some unknown faces, but you can pick out a few. These are the people you called friends, people that you ran with back in the day. They were a pack of your pack. Your brothers. Your sisters. You may have left but very little about them has changed.

Phaxin hands you a bottle of Faygo, “How's your kitten Kurloz? You two still together with your little huntress?”

You take the bottle and nod, using your free hand to sign, <<YES, STILL TOGETHER IN A STRONG MATESPRITSHIP. AND NEPETA HAS GOTTEN SO BIG NOW, NO LONGER THAT FUSSY LITTLE GIRL ALL DOLLED UP FOR CHURCH.>>

Phaxin chuckles, “Heh. She never was a princess type y’know? Word is she's been taggin’ ‘round with Gamzee, y’know, your little brother? Who the fuck is his mama anyways?”

You give an uneasy shrug. Honestly you don't know...but you have your suspicions due to the way he behaves, the way he prefers sneaking about and how he goes about his business. He’s also a bit shorter than you, which means his mother—whoever she is or was—would be on the shorter side of the hemospectrum.

You shrug. <<NEPETA AND HIM ARE PITCHED OR SOMETHING. KIDS AND THEIR HORMONES...>> You pause before signing again, <<I DIDN'T COME HERE JUST TO CATCH UP. I NEED TO...>> ” You take a deep breath, making sure to look your old friend right in the eyes, <<I NEED TO RETURN TO THE BROTHERHOOD. I NEED A JOB THAT IS GOING TO PAY ME, NOT USE ME FOR SLAVE LABOR AT MINIMUM WAGE AND FIRE ME WHENEVER THEY SEE FIT.>>

Phaxin is silent before he nods slowly. He puts an arm about your shoulder, “Bro, no one is judgin’ ya for what you did. Ya tried to live a good honest life like those motherfuckers wanted. Ya tried. Ya were clean man. Ya kept your nose clear of trouble after your stint. We all were prayin’ for ya.... but them,” He makes a face; his expression becoming colder, “ _Those_ motherfuckers out there, all the other blood colors, the humans, carapacians, and all those motherfucking _animals_...all of ‘em see nothin’ but _monsters_ in us. We are motherfuckin’ enslaved to a reputation started a millennium ago: Subjuggulators, aggressive, dangerous. They take one motherfuckin’ look at us Highbloods and they think all we gonna do is kill ‘em or harm ‘em,”  
Phaxin spit on the ground in contempt, “ _Motherfuckers_. Its ‘cause of them people like you an’ me can't be raisin’ families on honest wages. There ain’t no honest wages for fuckin’ Highbloods. No chances to move up other than through what they leave us with....violence. We only be violent ‘cause that is what they motherfuckin’ want us to _be_....” He pauses to look at you with a grim expression, “Guess we just got to keep givin’ the fuckers exactly what they want: the monsters in the dark,”

You glance away, but your hands clench into fists. It’s more or less true. You were said to be born, bred, and raised to do nothing but all sorts of heinous crimes. An incident happens? It’s always blamed on a Highblood. Something is damaged at your job? Somehow it was always your fault. Everything wrong in society is placed on your hemocaste.

On Alternia you would have been respected. You were motherfucking _nobility_! Your power and strength would have been something desirable and you would not have had to worry about your family starving. This world changed that. This world wanted a bad guy. They wanted a scapegoat. They needed someone to blame and the obvious victim was the hemocaste that history had painted as mindless killers.

Thus Highbloods went from warriors to criminals. Modern society only wanted your kind in prison or on the streets. Why did you ever try to imagine that things could be different? Why did you ever consider that you could somehow beat the system?

Phaxin pulls away, picks up his Faygo, and crashes on a couch. “Well, should be easy to get you back in, Kurloz. Crime daddy Capone is still runnin’ New Jack. Man is even more loaded now. Big old mansion for all of us to crash at after a good mission. He's needin’ hitmen I know, and you were the motherfuckin’ _best_ hitman we had before you tried to keep clean,” He cracks his neck, “I can get ya in to see him no issue; I mean you are the son of GHB, y’dig? You an’ Gamzee are like _princes_ to us Highbloods!”

You make a face. Your father. Maybe everyone else found the man's power attractive and something to look up to, but you personally found the man detestable.

 The door to the hideout opens then and a huge female Highblood comes in, cracking her neck, “What is the motherfucking noise all about?” she says, frowning a bit.

Highblood females are rare. For some reason, most Highbloods turn out to be male which had given rise to the bullshit rumor that there simply _were_ no Highblood females. Females were always larger than the male and more aggressive. The lofty university brainiacs claimed the size difference was necessary as female Highblood were more at risk to be taken advantage of if she did not become more or less an “Alpha troll”.

Thetas has never been exception to the rule. Phanix sees her and quickly cows, bowing his head in a clear sign of submission to the larger troll. You tense up slightly, even though her glare lessens seeing you. Thetas smiles and pulls you into a bear hug, “Kurloz! It has been so long my brother! How are you and Meulin? Still hanging in there?”

You smile and give a nod, <<MEULIN AND NEPETA ARE FINE. NEPETA HAS GOTTEN SO BIG NOW. HOW IS YOUR LITTLE ONE?>>

You remember Thetas when she first joined. She had been matesprits with some skinny tealblood and the teal had more or less abandoned Thetas when she had been confirmed with an egg. One moment Thetas was in love, purring with her little teal. The next the teal she-bitch was gone and Thetas, desperate to care for her future grub, had joined the Brotherhood. Last you had heard, her little one was just starting school and was considered to be bright for his age.

“Oh, the squirt? He's off to college now. Got a motherfucking scholarship for basketball....just glad he hasn't had to get into this life you know?  At least one of us got out of the shit hole.” Thetas says with a faint smile.

You almost wince. You have a suspicion that....that despite your best efforts, Nepeta had found her way into crime. Just another failure you managed to pull as a father towards her. You really were a terrible parent. You still manage a smile towards Thetas. <<THAT IS GREAT. I AM HAPPY FOR YOU,>> you sign.

Phanix laughs and puts an arm about you, “Well Thetas, guess who is motherfucking coming back to our side of the fence? Kurloz man, the Calaca de Muertos! He's gonna be joining up the Brotherhood as a hitman again.” he declared excitedly.

You still manage to smile even as a somewhat sad but understanding look filled Thetas's eyes, “Well good to have ya back, Kurloz...and no one is gonna blame you for comin’ back. It is motherfuckin’ hard to do anythin’ with bein’ a Highblood with a record...”

“What I was tellin’ him! I bet the boss will be happy to have Calaca de Muertos back. I mean _shit_...how many motherfuckers did you off by the time you retired?”

You pause and turn both your arms over. The inside are covered in tiny scars, with every five ticked off. Phanix blows a low whistle as he carefully counts the marks, “ _Eighty_ motherfuckers. Eighty. Man Kurloz, you were probably rollin’ in old fashion Alternian Faygo!”

Faygo, the popular soda of New Jack City, was just that: a soda of pure caffeine and high enough in sugar that it was more or less the leading cause of diabetes. Alternian Faygo was a very different breed of drink. On Alternia, there was no such thing as “soda” per say and there was nothing really terrifying about drinking it if had been a soda. Alternian Faygo was distilled from a single key component that divided it into a multitude of flavors: troll blood. Something about the taste of another troll's blood was like a drug to Highbloods. It caused an adrenaline shot right to the pleasure glands, inciting heightened aggression, and a near mindless desire to sink your fangs into something. Even back then, Highbloods had been careful about getting blood in their mouth. It was why clubs had been popular. Caving a skull in tended to cause internal injuries and less splatter like when you were hacking someone apart with a blade. Faygo was the only exception. With the celebration of a kill in the safety of your hive or the Mirthful Chapel, you could partake of the blood of your enemies made into a sugary swill.

You remember the taste. The Wicked Elixir as they called it. Your father taught you how to distill the mixture and the Brotherhood continued to brew it secretly. It was a victory drink. You remember chugging it down; remember the rush of adrenaline, the heightened senses, and the feeling of being afraid of where your own mind would go at times...but you hadn't had it in a long, long time. Not since it caused you to hurt someone dear to you....

You suppress a shudder and just give a slight shrug, <<I DID. I DON'T TOUCH THE STUFF ANYMORE. SO WHERE IS THE BOSS HOLD UP NOW?>>

Phaxin scratches the back of his head idly, “Over at the suburbs y’know? Just a couple of miles from that gated community of the ridiculously rich old trolls. Ya know, Alternia Fields? Man some of those hives...”

Thetas snorts, “Oh, you mean the pink Barbie burn-your-retinas-out-house? Honestly. What sort of motherfucking mental patient lives in a fucking house that is so _bright_ _pink_ you can see it from motherfucking space? And they even _bedazzled_ their motherfucking house too!”

You wave a hand and quickly sign, <<DON'T KNOW WHAT ANY OF THAT IS ABOUT. DO YOU KNOW IF I COULD SEE THE BOSS NOW OR IS IT TOO SHORT NOTICE?>>

Phaxin laughs, “For _you_? I think he would clear his schedule for the day! I mean you were the _best_ Kurloz, the motherfuckin’ best. I'll call up his pad and let them know the Calaca de Muertos back! Shit man you are gonna to be paid the big boons y’know? None of the hitmen we got now are any motherfuckin’ good.”

You smile a bit even though the lead feeling in your stomach is increasing. This is for your family. This is to keep them fed and maybe to convince Nepeta off the streets. Gamzee...maybe even get him off the street too and back into focusing on school. He’s still young. If it meant you had to start taking blood money again, then it’s worth it.

<<IF YOU COULD SET IT UP, THAT WOULD BE WICKED PHAXIN.>> you sign with a nod.

Phaxin grins, flipping out his iHusk, “Easy as fucking taking the panties off a mutant!”

Thetas pulls you to the couch and presses another soda Faygo into your hand smiling, “Good to have you back either way. These boys are all motherfuckin’ morons. You were the only one with class! A motherfuckin’ Highblood prince,”

The other brothers are gathering around, asking questions, asking about family (one asked if your daughter is available and you had to give them the mother of all glares), asking about your time in the Brotherhood from before. For the first time you feel...accepted. At home it’s a given as you and Meulin were completely devoted to each other, Gamzee was your brother, and Nepeta was a product of your genetic fluids. Outside of your family, everyone was just counting down to your next flip out and held you at arm’s length.

<<PERHAPS. JUST NEED THE MONEY NOW. NO ONE IS HIRING. WELL…NOT HIRING HIGHBLOODS.>>

Phaxin closes his iHusk grinning, “Yo! Kur, Big Boss will see you now! Just like I said I dropped your name and BOOM the boss was callin’ for an immediate an’ personal interview! I'll give ya a lift to the house man. We can catch up more on the way,”

You smile, <<THAT SOUNDS FINE TO ME. THANK YOU, PHAXIN.>>

Phaxin grins and takes out his car keys from his pocket, “Bitchin’. Let's rock then eh?”

You and Phaxin exit out the back, heading to his old lemon of a hovercar and get in. Of course it is decorated with all sorts of religious shit, just like it was back when the two of you used to cruise around in it.

<<SO, WHAT IS THE POWER STRUCTURE NOWADAYS?>> you sign to Phaxin.

Phaxin shrugs, “Well, the Red Crabs are still trouble but their motherfuckin’ numbers are droppin’. The Lean Greens are snarlin’ ‘bout but still in that war with the Waterdwellers. Right now the big motherfuckin’ thorn in our side is the United Blue Kings. A local motherfuckin’ gang that is just getting far too motherfuckin’ big for their shoes. They took some land from us, not anythin’ too important. They attacked a warehouse but the goods weren't worth protectin’. Just some cheap drugs...but now they are throwin’ around their weight like they _own_ the place y’know?”

You nod, crossing your arms and propping your feet up on the dash of the car. You use one hand to sign, <SO I'VE HEARD. ONE OF THEIR LEADERS LOINSPAWNS I HEARD WENT MISSING.>>

“Oh yeah. Hanael Gilpin. Motherfucker wasn't even on the _radar_ with how dimwitted he was...but his bitch of a mother is usin’ it as an excuse to try and start a war with the Brotherhood,” Phaxin drawls as he hit the turn signal, “I mean shit man. Behind her so called concern and crocodile tears? The bitch was probably motherfuckin’ grinnin’ at the prospect of throwin’ us out of New Jack,”

You snort, <<A FOOL. GUESS THAT IS WHERE HANAEL GOT IT FROM. THE BROTHERHOOD DOESN'T EVEN MAKE ITS BIG MONEY OFF DRUG SELLS.>>

You had been in the Brotherhood for years and you knew where the real money came from. The real money was made in selling land for garbage disposal, selling high fashion clothing and accessories (and then sell them as the real item to businesses. There wasn't a Troll Louie Vuitton handbag in New Jack that hadn't been made by the Brotherhood), assassination, and the illegal “human” trafficking between places and nations. It was more profitable than drugs but the United Blue Kings were still trapped in their tiny corner of the city thinking they were something big and that their drug market was going to make them millions.

<<SO I’M GUESSING THE BROTHERHOOD IS ABOUT TO MAKE A DECLARATION OF WAR?>> you sign, arching an eyebrow. It was probably going to be the shortest war in Brotherhood history to be honest.

“Pretty much, bro. I mean you are coming back right at the start of things, man. Been motherfuckin’ quiet on the streets. Deep breath before all hell motherfuckin’ breaks lose you know?” Phaxin says with a shrug, “I just hope it is motherfuckin’ short. Hate getting into this sort of bitch fit...a lot of families and what not of our brothers be ‘bout and fuckin’ United Blue Kings make targets of _everyone_ ,”

You feel every muscle in your body become more tense. You immediately think of Meulin, Nepeta, and Gamzee. If the UBK ever connected you back to them, they would be hurt and everyone connected to them. Gamzee is already in the Brotherhood and is still young.

Your relationship with your brother is a…complicated one. On Alternia, you would have been rivals and Subjuggulator courtesy dictated that you do everything in your power to cull the other. After all, there were thousands of Subjuggulators but only _one_ could be worthy of the title of Grand Highblood. On New Earth, he is your younger sibling. Not as obnoxious as you find Porrim, but you still tolerate him. You can’t stand him sometimes, but you do feel a great deal of…not necessarily _pity_ but sympathy after he was locked away for so long and what he went through.

You also know that because of Gamzee—well let’s be honest here, _brain damaged_ —state, that he may think he’s hot shit but he’s not. He doesn’t know how to cover his tracks well or realize when someone is stalking him. You noticed that Nitram follows and leads him on more than anyone else. You could smell the trouble coming for your brother unless he got out of the Brotherhood soon. You doubt his pride would let him though. He owed the Brotherhood a debt a gratitude for helping him out of Amethyst. He wouldn’t leave on his own terms...unless...

<<YOU THINK THE BIG BOSS CAPONE WOULD BE WILLING TO DO A LITTLE FAVOR ON THE SIDE IN ADDITION TO GETTING A JOB?>> you sign.

Phaxin frowns, forehead creased as he mulls it over, “Dunno. Guess it depends. What do ya motherfuckin’ have in mind?”

You sigh, <<GETTING MY STUPID KID BROTHER OUT BEFORE HE GETS HIMSELF KILLED. IDIOT JUST GOT HIS LIFE SORTED OUT…SOMEWHAT…AND NOW STICKING HIS FUCKING NOSE INTO TROUBLE AGAIN NO DOUBT.>> 

“Probably. Y’know kids. Could fight the li’l shit for it, y’know. Rumor has it the GHB didn’t want him joinin’ anyways.” Phaxin grumbles, “But man, he ain’t gonna find no opportunities ‘round these parts...”

You frown, <<I'LL SUPPORT HIM. NO DOUBT MY PAY IS GOING TO BE... CONSIDERABLE.>>

Phaxin laughs, “Man, you are gonna be makin’ it _triple digits a hit_ if you are still as good as you used to be.”

<<PROBABLY A BIT RUSTY BUT I'LL BE THROWN INTO A TRIAL BY FIRE, KNOWING HOW CAPONE TENDS TO THINK...>>

Phaxin nods as he pulls up to a gate, rolling down the window, “Most likely knowing Capone.”

Phaxin brings car to a stop in front of a gleaming white manor with gaudy clown statues. It looked like some ancient Roman sculpture went insane when he had gotten to the head and on top a perfect nude body they gave a Juggalo face lift. If there was any doubt a Highblood lived here, those statues would have blown that out of the water. Only a Highblood could appreciate the tragicomedic beauty of a clown. Well, only Highbloods who were really into clowns.

Personally you thought they were a little overdone.

A busty yellowblood in a tight maid uniform came down the front steps, walking like she was tip toeing between egg shells. She came to the car and curtseys politely to you both as you step out of the beat-up hovercar.

“You are Mr. Makara? Milord Capone will see you now. Mr. Bolton? You may make yourself comfortable in the Mirthful Wing.”  
Phaxin chuckles and pats you on the back. “See you later my motherfuckin’ mime bro.” he says, walking off.

You nod and the yellowblood gives a gesture for you to follow her. She wrinkles her nose slightly at the trailertrash clothes you are wearing but wisely keeps her mouth shut. After all, you are a Highblood guest in the house of a crime lord whom you....have known for a long _long_ time. No matter how you dress, she is expected to give you as much respect as you want. As much as respect as you motherfucking _deserve_ for once.

The interior of the house is as gaudy as the outside with all sorts of questionable art and expensive vases that were no doubt Old Alternian relics. There is even a stuffed seagoat head mounted on the wall, with its tongue lolling out of its mouth in an obscene gesture. But honestly you can't judge. Your respiteblock as a teenager looked pretty much like this....and your father was worse. You never got how the Grand Highblood and the Dolorosa were matesprits with how bad your father’s sense of decoration was in comparison to your mother.

The maid leads you up the stairwell and knocks on the door politely.

“Mr. Capone? Mr. Kurloz Makara has arrived,” she says in a honey sweet voice that made you want to gag.

“Send him in.”

You enter the office and give a lazy grin signing, <<CAPONE... BEEN A LONG TIME,>>

Behind the desk is a large Highblood, more close to your father in size wearing a sleek white suit and his hair is slicked back neatly. His Juggalo facepaint looks professionally done up. He looks more ready to go off to a meeting and discuss the benefits of synergy rather than be a man that handed out death contracts. Capone smiles, showing off his perfectly straight fangs.

“Kurloz, a pleasure to see you again. How long has it been since the good old days?” he says in an articulate, almost warm voice.

You shrug, moving to take a seat in front of the desk. You sign, <<TEN YEARS I THINK? BEEN A WHILE, THAT IS FOR SURE. I SEE YOU'VE REALLY GOTTEN AHEAD IN LIFE, BRO.>>

Capone chuckles. He snaps his fingers and the yellowblood maid moves forward to pour the two of you faygo into fancy crystal glasses, “Yes. The Brotherhood rewards hard workers and ambition. Now I oversee all the business in New Jack.” he pauses to pick up his glass, sipping the Faygo, “But that is neither here or there. You retired and were planning on living the quiet life last I heard, so it’s surprising to hear you were looking to retake your old job.”

You sigh, picking up your own glass, swirling the liquid around. With your free hand, you sign, << YEAH. TRIED IS THE KEY WORD THERE. NOT A MOTHERFUCKING SINGLE JOB ON THE MARKET FOR A HIGHBLOOD WITH A RECORD.>>  
“I understand that. I've been there, tried that. You do one crime and the whole of society latches a stigmatism to you no matter how hard you try to prove them wrong. Deplorable really. Then they all wonder why Highbloods like us have to go into crime.” Capone makes a face, “I understand your position completely and I can now fathom why you are here. You need a job that not only pays you what you deserve for your talents but one that pays in respect as well,”

You nod. Capone was always a more verbose troll. The man spoke with the articulation and enunciation of a cerulean blood which made you wonder if one of his parents were one. You smile, <<YEAH...ANY JOBS OPEN THEN?>>  
“For you, Kurloz Makara? Always. You are a legend in the Brotherhood even to this day and you are a direct descendant of the Grand Highblood.” Capone says to you with a smile, “How about you pick up where you left off?”

You pause in mid sip, slowly lowering your glass. You haven’t forgotten what your old job was like; the job of a hitman. A troll who deals out death and eliminates any and all threats to the Brotherhood without a second thought. A job in murder that could get you thrown in prison for life if caught. But it paid very, very well. You would never have to worry about money again.

<<I TAKE IT YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN MIND FOR A TEST RUN TO SEE IF I EVEN HAVE IT STILL.>> you sign carefully, keeping your gaze level on the other Highblood.

Capone chuckles, giving a nod, “Well of course. Don't want to give you a job that could lead to your death or capture. Your family would suffer no doubt. Speaking of your family, we will make sure that they get protection and the usual Brotherhood family benefits,”

You nod. Benefits were another big thing that drew in trolls to the gangs. Protection, price reduction on food, black market benefits of medicines...your family would be well off again. It’s worth every risk you are about to take.

<<ONE REQUEST THOUGH.>> you sign, <<GAMZEE MAKARA, MY YOUNGER BROTHER... I WANT HIM OUT OF THE BROTHERHOOD OR AT LEAST AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PYRAMID DOING THE SHIT DUTIES.>>

Capone sips his drink, mulling your request over before nodding, “That can be done. I'll admit, the Grand Highblood did not want him in our organization but...a Makara is in the Brotherhood again. It was too much to just pass up. It’s a moral boost you see. Yet with you back, I think I can arrange something. Anything for the best hitman in New Jack,” He says with a polite smile.

You nod and set down your glass. You sit back and cross your arms, closing your eyes. You raise one hand to sign, <<SO WHO IS THE FIRST TARGET I'LL BE WARMING UP ON?>>

Capone chuckled, “Straight to business as always. I missed your style Makara.”

He swivels his chair around to a low sitting file cabinet. He ruffles through it for a few minutes before turning back around and placing a folder on his desk and sliding it towards you.

“Valaei Gillpin. Youngest daughter of Ms. Gilpin. As Gilpin has been muscling her United Blue Kings into our business, acting like she is even worth our time, we've been marking down where her family holes up. Hanael is already dead, thank goodness, but this one is next and a more prominent warning as reports indicate she is rather fond of this daughter.” Capone begins, tapping his finger on the file.

You nod and move to pick up the file, opening it. Clipped inside is a picture of the girl, a cobaltblood that looked just about Nepeta's age. Along with her pictures were write-ups on the building she lived at, her activities, where she went, how heavily guarded she was, and other similar notes. You let your eye trail over the information as Capone continues,

“To say the least, the best place to hit her is in her own home. They put far too much confidence in there being only one elevator and stairwell to guard as making it...difficult to get in. It is well guarded yes, but only idiot thugs are posted there. Gillpin, as always, saves the best defenses for herself,”

You nod again, <<NOT TOO HARD TO GET IN. I AM GOING TO REQUEST A PARTNER ON THIS. IT SEEMS THIS WHOLE APARTMENT IS HOME TO UNITED BLUE KINGS AND THEIR FAMILIES. WE COULD SEND A LARGER WARNING IF, PERHAPS...SOME FIREWORKS WERE USED.>> You add, glancing up at Capone.

The other Highblood grins wide, showing off his sizable fangs again, “And this is why I missed having you around, Makara. You actually have a working sponge in your thinkpan.”

You shrug and a slight smile, even though you are cringing on the inside at what you are about to do, <<I DO MY BEST. IF IT IS OKAY WITH YOU, I'LL TAKE PHAXIN WITH ME ON THIS.>>

“He's good at his craft and you two go way back. I see no reason why not.” Capone says with a chuckle, “Good luck, Makara. I look forward to hearing of your success,”

You nod and get to your feet, taking the file with you. Capone glances to the maid, “Go fetch Phaxin and tell him Kurloz and him have business tonight. Make sure you take them to the armory to get the proper equipment would you Cessil?”  
“At once!” The maid says promptly with a bow.

She scurries off as you leave the office, lost in your thoughts. You would need silencers on your guns or else your work would bring attention quickly. Disguises would be a must...and you'll want a mirror and face paint as well. It has been a while since you wore the Brotherhood paint.

You go down to the entry way to meet up with Phaxin who comes grumbling in from the Mirthful Wing, hands in his pants pockets, “This better be good, Makara! I was just ‘bout to score some nice motherfuckin’ mutant glute, bro.”

You roll your eyes, <<WE GOT A HIT TO CARRY OUT AND I WANT TO GET IT DONE FOR TONIGHT. WE NEED TO SUIT UP. I GOT A SPECIAL MISSION THAT NEEDS YOUR SPECIAL EXPLOSIVE TOUCH.>>  
Phaxin blinks before he be grins, rubbing his hands together, “Okay, now _that_ is somethin’ I can get motherfuckin’ behind! So what is the hit about?”

<<I'LL TELL YOU ON THE WAY TO THE ARMORY. FIRST I GOT TO CALL MY MATESPIRT UP AND SAY I'LL BE HOME LATE.>> you sign.

You take your iHusk and quickly text Meulin. Of course Meulin is a bit upset you won’t be home for dinner but you promise to make it up to her. You say your new “job” depends on you being able to demonstrate the necessary skills to get it. Of course you lie about which skills they are testing. You aren't going to ever let her know nor tell her that you took up murder for money again. She wouldn't understand, but you'll make it up to her for the necessary deception. Tomorrow the two of you will go out and you'll treat her to a nice restaurant rather than the usual stop at Bendy's for a shake and nuggets.

You follow Phaxin down to the manor basement. You enter a room lined with weapons of all sorts along with the materials with a disguise. The other Highblood grins, tossing you a disguise.

You arch an eyebrow, <<A MIME...? WHY A MIME?>>  
“Why motherfuckin’ _not_ a mime?” he says, pulling on a mechanic’s work uniform, “Got some face paint over there by the sinks if you want to doll yourself up an’ shit.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you pull the black and white striped sweater over your head, <<OF COURSE! I CAN'T GO OUT IN PUBLIC WITHOUT MY PROPER FACE IN PLACE.>>

Although you say it with a grin, something inside you is sick with shame. Something inside you is screaming that this isn't who you are and this isn't what you want to do with your life. You aren't a violent Highblood. You've done your best to control your anger, to make yourself a better troll...but honestly where did that get you?

You move to the mirror and let your eyes trace over the familiar face. You dip your fingers into the cold greasepaint and almost mechanically begin to apply it. Within minutes, you are staring at a stranger in the mirror....or an old demon from the past. The deep black eyes and black along the nose give this face the look of a skull. The mouth is more twisted due to the scars and looked more battered, more lethal. This is a face you had not seen in a long time. The face of a killer. The face of a proper Subjuggulator about to head out to do their duty.

You don't know how long you stood there, staring at your own reflection, but Phaxin clears his throat, pulling your attention to him, “So what sort of weaponry are we taking Kur?”

You close your eyes and turn away from the mirror. You straighten up, take a deep breath and open your eyes again, <<GUNS FOR ONE THING. THE REST...WELL...>> You take out the folder and open it up with a forced grin, <<LET ME EXPLAIN TO YOU WHAT I'M THINKING ABOUT DOING...>>


	2. rekindled

**== >Kurloz: Go to work**

The hit is in Eisner Avenue, a higher ended apartment district of New Jack City, and as the reports outlined, the building is in fact guarded. That is to be expected. Most people who were in gangs had a pretty good idea that they were on someone's shit list and had to tread carefully (or if they weren’t thinkpan dead at least). However even the smartest of crooks could only guess who had it out for them and Gilpin had underestimated the power that the Brotherhood could employ against its enemies. You lean back in your seat, dressed up more presentable. Your traded your tank top for a black and white stripped sweater and your jeans for a pair of black slacks with dark grey spots on them. You are wearing gloves, hands shoved in your pockets, glancing over the security. Besides you Phaxin sits, sipping a slushie he picked up from the gas station.

“You ready...?” he asks idly, glancing over to you, sucking on the straw noisily.

Your response is to lift your gun, checking to make sure the silencer is secure before you lock and load it. You cock an eyebrow at him. As if he even has to ask if you were ready. Yes, you are going to be a bit rusty and out of practice, but years and years of pulling these kind of jobs don't just fade with just a couple of years of retirement. Even as you walked through Capone’s mansion, your eyes noted all the way in, how many thugs guard the entry points, and how the patrol routes worked.

Carefully, you conceal the guns in your bag and casually step out of the car. You pause when Phaxin clears his throat to get your attention, a bottle in his hand, “First mission back and all. Want a little bit, man? Just to get back into the groove?”

He holds an unmarked soda bottle containing a reddish hued liquid inside. Alternian Faygo. You tense as you see the liquid; it would give you the edge you need to focus, aggression, and dull yourself to the slaughter you are about to unleash. But the last time you drank this, you hurt Nepeta...

It would just be one sip though....

You take the offered bottle and pop the cap, a soft hiss escaping the container. You stare at the liquid. It is just one sip. One sip and you'll have the hit to work out the aggression on. It isn't addictive like a drug. You stopped drinking it no problem. You just need it for the job. You end up drinking up about a quarter of it before handing the bottle back to Phaxin.

It’s a motherfucking goldmine of flavor—adrenaline tingling on your tongue, buzzing on the inside of your mouth, and washing down into your stomach. It is motherfucking… _perfect._

Already you can feel the edge returning, everything coming more clearly into focus. You notice sights and smells you hadn't before. Your senses are on edge. Phaxin tosses the bottle in the backseat and moves to exit the hovercar. He hefts a mechanic’s bag with a fake logo embroidered on the side, “Ready to go to motherfucking work, Kur?”  
You pause; then a wide smirk spreads across your face. You give a thumbs up with one hand as you slide on a beret. Phaxin just grins back. It is time to go to work.

Phaxin walks ahead first, disguised as a mechanic to take a look at a broken air conditioner unit of the apartment complex your target is holed up in. You, on the other hand, are going in disguised as a mime clown. It may be a bit cliché and old fashioned, but there’s nothing wrong with the classics. Besides it’s an easy persona to slip into for your first job back.  

You wait about twenty minutes before hefting your bag and sliding out of the car, heading toward the apartment building with a gentle, serene smile on your face. You tip your invisible top hat to the UBK goons at the front door—giving off the vibe of being nothing more than a friendly, dumb, mime here for a party or some sort of entertainment. The goons aren't entirely brain dead though. They eye up and make a show of “checking” a piece of paper with the address you are trying to reach on it.

One of the goons approaches you, standing next to one. One hand rests on the handle of his gun, making sure you aren’t going to the floor their boss is on and if you are, then he’s going to put a bullet between your eyes.

You play it cool. You let him follow you as you approach the elevator. You offer a smile and watch the lights above the elevator door flicker as it ticks down to the lobby floor. Finally the elevator dings and the doors groan open. You enter the elevator with the goon.

You could almost laugh that they were stupid enough not to actually do a search of your bag. It’s clear to you the United Blue Kings were anything _but_ professionals at this stage in the game. The thug following you presses the button for the top floor while you carefully select the floor two below the one you need to get to. No doubt if you went to that floor you would be shot to pieces by the security probably guarding the elevator. You very much doubt they would mind shooting you _and_ their goon. Fools were replaceable after all and the UBK had a lot of fool underlings to spare.

The elevator doors close and it begins to slowly lurch up. The goon eyes you up as he smacks his gum loudly, “So you are what, some sort of ...clown thing mime...? You do any tricks?”

You grin and nod. Oh, you could do tricks all right.

“What sort of tricks?” he smirks, “Balloon animals?”

You nod again and kneel down to open your bag. You take out a long deflated balloon and a pump. You hold up the balloon with a smile before attaching it to the pump. You inflate it quickly into one long balloon, and then set the pump down. You bend and shape the balloon into a dog. Your father taught you how to make balloon animals. Honestly you never saw the point of learning it when you were younger as it seemed only good as a parlor trick. Then you learned just how distracting it could be…especially when you added another trick to it.

You hold up the completed balloon dog, leaning in as if you were going to give it to him. You raise your other hand as the thug grins, about to take the “gift”. You dart forward instead and pop the balloon in his face, the dust of powdered glass flying into his face. He screams, hands going to his face. Your hands go for his neck, pressing him hard to the wall with a snarl.

He struggles and kicks but eventually goes limp when you give his neck a twist. Carefully, you push his body aside and dust off your gloved hands. You put the balloon pump back in the bag. When the elevator dings on the floor you indicated, you step out with a serene little smile.

Step one went smoothly. 

You walk down the hall casually, counting off the rooms. Eventually you come to the outer hallway with windows opened up to the city below. The broken AC had made it blisteringly hot in the apartment complex which meant you could rely on the windows being open on every floor to try and vent the heat. For all everyone knew, the “mechanic” had finally shown up to fix the AC. The AC that, a few hours earlier, had been broken by a Brotherhood insider.

You throw your bag over your shoulder and climb out one of the windows. You balance on the ledge carefully and look up. At least it’ll be an easy climb.

You flex your claws and grab onto the ledge. You start to pull yourself up to the next floor, then to the next one. You are thankful you never took the time to get your claws filed down to nubs. It made this easier to do as you can dig your claws into every little crack.

You finally reach the floor you need. You slide to the side of a window and carefully peek in. There are a few goons in the hallway stationed with guns trained on the elevator. The room you are after is guarded by two thugs. In total, six men to deal with. You slip your hands into your bag and pull out your guns. You can get off about four shots in surprise, leaving you two more to deal with if they are competent…which you highly doubt. You smirk.

This couldn't be easier. 

You throw yourself through the open window with a roll coming up and lining up the shots; you fire off quickly. Two go down, their faces twisted in surprise. The third has some brains and tries to dive behind a planter in the hallway. They only get about halfway there before you drop them with your next round of shots. One of the guards at the door grabs his gun but he’s down before he can pull the trigger. The fifth hollers a warning; a bullet between the eyes puts that to an end.

You smirk as you approach the last guard, who is more or less whimpering, having dropped his gun and put his hands up. He’s just some young punk hired for a job that he thought would be easy and without risk. He didn't have the real stomach for this. That’s typical of the UBK’s hired help though.

He’s trembling like a leaf, begging, “Look man I-I-I didn't see shit okay? Just...just p-p-p-please let me go home...!”

You smirk, eyes slitted as you reload your pistols. You kneel down and reach out, plucking the keycard from his front pocket. A grin twists your face as you pat their cheek and get back to your feet. You swipe the card and step into the room casually. The guard smiles nervously almost looking relieved...until you pull the trigger and put a bullet between their eyes.

No witnesses.

The guards in the room are more prepared after hearing the scuffle, but there are only two of them. They are both bluebloods, wearing shades with their fangs bared in open defiance of your presence. You could laugh. You are running on adrenaline and feeling fucking invincible. You smirk and raise a hand, crooking a finger to beckon them towards you.

Bring it on motherfuckers.

They are already lifting their guns to aim at your head and face. Too eager. Too slow. Something in you snaps in half, letting your pure, hard instincts take charge. They are nothing. They are motherfucking _nothing_ compared to you. You don’t have your tongue anymore but there’s nothing wrong with your vocal cords. You let everything out: your pent up aggression, your hatred, your agitation and frustration at everything going wrong in your life.

It all comes out in an earsplitting roar.  

Whatever bravado and professionalism they had, floods out of them fairly quickly. They open fire but their aim is wildly off as you charge them. You reach the first one, bringing an elbow crunching hard into their face before turning to the other one. They squeal in fear like an oinkbeast hauled off to the slaughter. You snarl and lower your head.

Trolls had horns. Some long, some short but all of them were actually lethal if used right. Even a mutant could crack bone with a well-placed headbutt. A Highblood’s horns were sharped to wicked points and with enough force....

The screams, eyes wide and blood bubbling up from his mouth as your horns are caught in his throat. You lift your head and tear upwards. You pull back, still grinning. Violence is pumping in your ears as you turn to his companion, screaming and clutching his broken nose.  

You put an end to that quickly.

You step over the two bodies and walk to the bedroom, lifting one of your guns again.

Your target is pressed against the back wall, her eyes wide. She looks like Hanael, the same horn style but at least this one had taste in clothes. If the information you read is true, then Mrs. Gilpin favored this daughter over her idiot son. The girl was successful even at her young age. She might have been something when she grew up. Might have is the key word.

She is not going to last the motherfucking night.

She looks at you, eyes wide with fear. She’s wearing a dress and fur coat that probably costs more than your shitty TV. You don’t even hesitate.

You pull the trigger.

She slumps to the floor. Her eyes are still open and her mouth hangs open in a final protest that didn’t quite make it out of her mouth before her death.

You casually exit the room, apartment, and head to the stairwell. You take your time going down. Your guns are in your bag, although you are still covered in blood. At the bottom of the stairwell, Phaxin leans against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth.

He smirks at you, “Had some motherfuckin’ fun I see...”

You give a low chuckle. You quickly sign, <<BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I'VE BEEN ABLE TO…WORK OUT AGGRESSION.>>

Phaxin laughs and pulls out a spare mechanic uniform from his bag, “Well, ya better change quickly and we can blow this motherfuckin’ place. Police should be showin’ up any minute no doubt.”

You nod, taking the uniform, and quickly changing into it. The bloody mime disguise goes into your bag with your guns. You run a cloth up your horns to clean off the blue blood there.

<<YOU LEFT THE PRESENT FOR THE KINGS RIGHT?>> you ask.

“Of course my motherfuckin’ bro. Why wouldn't I? Got to let them _all_ motherfuckin’ know the Brotherhood means business right?” Phaxin says, chuckling lightly.

The two of you exit the apartment complex as the wail of sirens are heard. Nonchalantly, Phaxin lights a cigarette as the two of you reach the hovervan parked across the street from the building.

“Five..... four..... three.... two.....one....”

Screams rent the air as an explosion shakes the apartment complex. The lower floors go up in flames first, blocking any easy exit. The UBK thugs are scrambling out like chickens with their heads cut off. You could almost laugh but you just play it cool, moving to get into the van.

Phaxin opens the door for you, giving a lavish bow.

“Welcome back Prince of Rage....welcome motherfucking _back_....”


End file.
